


Little By Little

by leggsyunwin



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual!Sherlock, F/M, M/M, ahhhhh, asexual sherlock makes me cry, it would explain so MUCHH, okay so molly/lestrade mention but i didnt tag bc its like 1 sentence so, rape mention, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:32:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5657881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leggsyunwin/pseuds/leggsyunwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short drabble about a detective and his writer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little By Little

I'm [leggsyunwin](http://leggsyunwin.tumblr.com) on tumblr!

 

Imagine when John and Sherlock first start dating.

It was after the years of tiptoeing around their long-adjusted feelings and Mary (Mary whom John still called his wife for three months after the divorce papers were signed, after he'd first kissed Sherlock on the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital in a moment of self-loathing and fragility) and John's final self-discovery of his then-questioning sexuality. Then, they finally had each-other in their own way and the decision made in their own time: despite Mrs Hudson's heckling, and then crowing about how she "made it all happen" when it finally did.

It was just them; Sherlock and John, and 221B Baker Street as a palace of their own.

Maybe John had always been curious as to why Sherlock had stayed away from relationships for so long, in the beginning. Why Sherlock had finally chosen him after all this time. He'd assumed it was a Mycroft thing - not wanting to associate too heavily with the "normal" crowd. Or maybe a trust thing. But eventually John dropped it and just accepted; accepted the life he and Sherlock now led together, so much more than partners in crime-solving and best friends.

At first it was steady: dates to Italian restaurants and dancing to familiar violin harmonies he was greeted with when he came home from the hospital. Sherlock had been playing more; John often sat by the fireplace and typed his stories whilst his partner in a multitude of ways inspired his writing to flourish into art.

John didn't think about how much Sherlock played when Irene was around, nor did he wonder about whether they were in love. Or how long he'd loved John. And he certainly didn't think about Mary and his wedding; the violin piece Sherlock wrote that sounded so much like a romantic serenade; the sudden disappearance; the downfall after it all.

They arrive home from a case well-solved one night, high on the speech Sherlock had accompanied to the arrest and John's mind buzzing with metaphors to describe the detective in his blog. Mrs Hudson was out at line dancing for the night, so they helped themselves to her alcohol stash in the kitchen.

John wasn't drunk: just merry enough to hear Sherlock's voice melt to butter as the detective dramatically read one of John's articles - sniggering to himself at some of the less subtle romantic gestures.

Sherlock wasn't drunk either: just merry enough to hear John's voice curl fondly around the air, make Sherlock's heart kick in his chest.

The detective didn't really expect the kiss that followed from the writer, nor the familiarity and warmth of John's lips flooding through to the tips of Sherlock's toes. They hadn't done this much - too busy solving cases and fighting for the custody of John and Mary's baby to think about that - but the intimacy felt right, with one of John's hands on Sherlock's face and the other grasping his knee, supporting his weight as he leant over from his chair.

John liked kissing him- his partner. It was a term of endearment so simple yet so significant to their lives that sometimes, when Mary's cold gaze and cunning tone won the courts' appeal, it was all that got him through to the next day. Somehow, in this moment, kissing didn't feel like enough. John dragged Sherlock down the hall.

At first Sherlock didn't understand, thought they were going to share their kisses in bed until they fell asleep in relaxed slumbed. That was until John manhandled him onto the bed and kissed his neck, his throat, hands sliding up his shirt to stroke the skin he seeked.

"John." Sherlock would gasp, fingers clutched in the bedsheets. And John would shush him with a fond gasp of, "Sherlock," lips finding each other in the low hum of the apartment as John unbuttoned his shirt and it crumpled to the floor.

They hadn't done this, or even talked about it. Sherlock tried not to think about the inevitable when John pushed off their clothes and kissed every patch of alabaster skin. Or when he was rolled onto his stomach by the writer with coaxing hands.

Or when he started to scream moments before John was going to make love to him, body stilling in complete anxiety as John slowly coaxed him out of the attack.

It wasn't until after that John was informed of previous events; that Sherlock was cripplingly asexual.

That Sherlock's first boyfriend had forced him when the detective was just young, just discovering his sexuality (or lack thereof). That Irene Adler had appeared in a time of his life where he wanted so badly to forget the past and the consequences of being asexual that he forced himself to make love to her, only to find his mentality deteriorating from shame of succumbing to it.

That he'd not protested with John because he wanted to make him happy, because he trusted John but the fear and anxiety of his first relationship still lingered.

And John... He understood. He was only happy that Sherlock told him and had stopped him before it got any worse. God, John wouldn't have forgiven himself if he'd... He couldn't even think about it all.

For the next couple of months they stuck to romantic dates and fighting Mary's iron fist and crime solving. Sherlock seemed to try and distance himself at first, maybe out of guilt (he'd once confessed to John, after the incident, that he felt guilty for not fulfilling what John wanted of him). However John also had an iron fist and he used it to make Sherlock realise he was as happy and in love as he would've been if they were having sex.

And eventually, Sherlock believed him.

The trust was still there, and their devoted ("barbarically normal" -Mycroft Holmes) love for each other never ceased. But somehow those months after discovering Sherlock's past helped them to grow as people and as a couple.

One night, close to Christmas, they went out with Lestrade and Hooper. The four drank eggnog and ate chestnuts until their stomachs were bursting from christmas spirit and they worked off their appetite for more by going ice skating.

John had a feeling Sherlock had practised this, because despite his reluctance to go in the rink he was surprisingly a "natural beginner". John, however, wobbled embarassingly and kept himself upright by wedging himself between the barrier and Sherlock's arm, which didn't bother him one bit.

Molly and Lestrade fell head over heels for each other in a whole new meaning.

That night they returned to the flat with a contented aura between them, laughing when their coats got stuck on their arms and sighing when they finally relaxed into their armchairs. Sherlock kissed away the eggnog on John's cheek, and squeezed the writers hand enough to make his heart squeeze simultaneously.

The "I Love You's" weren't exchanged that night. Nor did they make love by the fireplace and cure Sherlock of all his anxieties and fears - the ending is never as flawless and completed as we'd like. However it was in a silent agreement that passed between them that night that they were utterly infatuated with each other. In that moment that was maybe all John and Sherlock needed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [leggsyunwin](http://leggsyunwin.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


End file.
